She reached for a smile. “I’m not very hungry. I’ve eaten more in this last week than I did most of last month, I think.”
He didn’t return her smile, only sat back and considered her for a moment before closing his hand around hers. Idly, he toyed with her fingers.
“Have the pleasures of my home grown stale already?”
“No.” She flinched at his searching gaze but forced herself to hold it. “At first, I thought they might but I don’t believe that anymore.”
He stole one of her berries with his free hand and she tapped his wrist with her spoon, smearing it with cream. He ate the berry and licked the cream from his wrist. “Why is that?” She lifted her gaze from his mouth to his eyes and he laughed. “You thought you’d grow bored with life as an aristo. What is it that changed your mind?”
She could grow bored with life as an aristo. Kal... She didn’t think she’d ever tire of him and it scared her. Once she was done with the commission, Kal would be done with her. She waved her spoon. “Sleeping past dawn, eating rich food, lazing about all day like cats in the sun. You’re changing me. It will be a wonder if I remember how to cast when the thread arrives.”
“It will come back to you. You have as much time as you need.”
She’d take her time and do her finest work. Make this waking dream last for as long as she could, but she wouldn’t be caught in her own trap.
The smile in his eyes faded though his lips still curved. “And you haven’t changed, Ily. You’re the same rose, blossomed.” He squeezed her hand and stood, drawing her up with him. “Come. If you’re finished, I’ve something to show you.”
“What is it?”
He smiled. “You’ll see.”
Swatches of light cut through the great windows of the hall. The stonemason who’d created his home had been gifted. He’d manipulated the swirls in the marble to trail in one direction. It reminded her of the patterns left behind in the sand when a wave withdrew. Unnaturally beautiful. There were no paintings, nothing so crude as that, but everywhere she looked was the work of a master.
She glanced at Kal, but his eyes were fixed ahead. He lifted his chin and a servant boy scurried ahead to open the door at the end of the hall.
Kal tugged at her hand, pulling her around to plant a gentle kiss on her lips before ushering her inside with an uncertain smile. She was still smiling over the kiss when she crossed the threshold, and it took her a moment to realize what he wanted to show her.
It was a good-sized room, not as large as Kal’s bedroom but empty of furnishings and completely square. If she didn’t miss her guess, the window on the far wall would overlook the kitchen garden. There was everything one would need to cast a weave in here. A chest of thread. Silken cushions spread over the floor. Sunlight and drapes to block it. A lock on the door.
“Your workshop,” he said. “The supplies came in last night and I had the servants bring them here. It’s generally quiet in this wing, but there are other rooms that might suit you better. Larger and with more windows...”
She looked around, throat tight. She didn’t need much light to do her work. In fact, she’d always preferred dim light. It was easier to focus on the weave that way. And this room was far larger than any she’d worked in before, even at the University. She’d long ago given up the hope of ever working in such a place again.
She realized Kal was staring at her, waiting for her to speak. She shook her head. “No need to move anything. This will do perfectly.”
“Good.” Hands clasped behind his back, he studied her a moment longer. “You can start as soon as you like.”
She knelt before the trunk, testing the strength and texture of the thread with her fingertips, examining the quality of the dye. The best money could buy. Of course, it would be.
“Ily?”
She looked up, surprised, and he smiled at her. After a moment, he nodded. “There are papers and pastels in the desk. I’ll leave you to make certain everything’s in order. Let me know if there’s anything else you need.”
“I don’t know what you want, the colors and...what is it?”
His eyes sparkled with amusement and some other indefinable emotion, but he only